Repayment
by Thesseli
Summary: When one meddles in the affairs of genies, there may be a price to pay.
1. Part 01

There had only been a sense of drifting. Just a hazy, semiconscious state; comfortable, like lying half-awake in bed on a Sunday morning, unaware of the passage of time. It had been like that for so long that he had all but forgotten anything else. But the peaceful, drifting haze was shattered by a sudden flash of light from above him, and an inrush of clean, fresh air.  
  
And his coming fully awake when the bottle was opened.  
  
He was young, as genies went. He had never served, had never even been out of his bottle since he'd been imprisoned. How long had it been? He didn't know, and didn't particularly care at this point. He was nearly frantic at the chance to get out, pushing his way out in a puff of turquoise-blue smoke, then coming back to his solid form as quickly as he could, wanting nothing more than to feel the earth beneath his feet.  
  
Before him there was a woman, She-Who-Had-Released-Him. Mistress, his mind told him. It was an almost automatic reaction, along with his gratitude. But Mistress wasn't behaving like a rescuer was supposed to; in fact, she didn't seem happy at all. She was sitting flat on the ground, her mouth open, staring at him in shock.  
  
He knelt down before her, again almost automatically -- he had been well- trained in the ways of genii prior to his incarceration -- and began saying words of thanks and appeasement. But Mistress just kept staring at him. "Oh God, I've lost it, I must be going crazy." she murmured, looking away, her eyes starting to waver.  
  
"Please don't cry, Mistress," he pleaded, with a brief afterthought of thanks that she could understand what he was saying, even with the stilted genie-pattern of speech he'd been forced to acquire. This wasn't the way the first meeting between genie and rescuer was supposed to go. "You have released me; now I am yours to command."  
  
"Wh-what?" she finally stammered, still looking at him as if he might suddenly grow another head or sprout wings.either of which he could have done, although neither seemed appropriate for his current situation.  
  
"You released me from my imprisonment within the bottle. Now I am yours," he said gently, so as not to startle her further. He remembered how it had been the first time he'd seen someone materialize out of thin air, and knew it could be a shock to even the most stable psyche.  
  
She sat back, still on the floor, and shook her head. "Who are you? *What* are you?" she asked in confusion.  
  
He was surprised. Hadn't she ever heard the stories, the legends of what he was? He gestured at the male version of the harem-type clothing he wore, gold and a rich blue that matched his eyes. "I am a genie," he replied, thinking it would have been obvious.  
  
"A genie?" she repeated.  
  
"Yes," he replied, wishing he could be more helpful. "You have not heard of genies?"  
  
"Yes, I've heard of genies," she replied doubtfully. "I just didn't know you actually *existed*."  
  
"We do," he replied simply. She really was quite fetching.long legs, dark hair, and slate-blue eyes. She couldn't have been more than 21. There was a time when he would have jumped at the chance to talk to someone like her, but that was long ago. How he had behaved in the past would not have been appropriate now. He was a bit taken aback, not because of his typical response to a beautiful young woman (which hadn't diminished over the intervening years), but because he was beginning to feel a pull towards something more than gratitude towards her. At first he didn't understand it, until he remembered something from his initial training. It had to do with a bond that was forged during speech.  
  
Once he had begun speaking with her -- it always took spoken words to do it, as it relied on conscious thought as a way for the genie to get a glimpse into its master's (or mistress's) mind -- it was as if he was seeing more than what was on the outside. It was a surprisingly comforting feeling. He could see down to her core, to the innate goodness of her soul; and in that moment, he *knew* her. Not where she was born or what she did or who her first boyfriend had been, but everything that was important about *who* she was.  
  
And if you knew someone so well, so completely, it was very hard not to like them.  
  
He suddenly realized that this was what allowed his kind to serve.even though he'd initially been horrified at the thought of this bondage to another human being. He hadn't always been a genie; he had been made one after a number of transgressions against Hadji and some of his more important family members. He had been warned of consequences, multiple times, but he'd never thought something like this could be done to him. Now he knew better. Now he was paying the price for his insolence and his carelessness. Now *he* would serve.  
  
But it wasn't what he'd feared. It wasn't slavery. It was honestly, willingly wanting to help someone whose inner goodness he couldn't help but see.  
  
Now he understood how Jeannie had done it.  
  
A little unsteadily, the girl rose to her feet, dusting off her pants and wiping at the smudge of dirt across her face. He continued on his knees for a moment more, making sure she had regained her footing before he stood as well. It felt good to stretch his legs. "Are you all right, Mistress?" he asked surreptitiously.  
  
She blinked, then smiled lopsidedly. "I guess so."  
  
"I'm glad," he replied, as he looked around the place where he now found himself. Dusty books and pieces of statues and pottery littered the tables around him. There were dirty fingerprint smudges on many of the items, including what looked like an unnaturally flat television screen with a typewriter's keyboard attached to it. "Where are we, Mistress?" he asked curiously.  
  
"We're in one of the archaeology department's labs -- I was cataloging, and working on my thesis on the computer." She gestured at the TV-like device; there were words on the screen, with a blinking dot at the end of the last sentence. "And I found this bottle, in with a bunch of other things that hadn't been catalogued yet.it was so pretty that I wanted to get a better look at it."  
  
The newly-released genie was still gazing around the room, his eyes again falling on the computer screen. "Mistress, may I ask you.what year is this?" he said weakly, feeling more lost than when he'd first been put into that bottle.  
  
"It's 2037," she said. "October 17th, 2037." She sounded concerned. "Why? When was the last time you were.out?"  
  
He paused. "A long time ago. Things have.changed.since I was imprisoned." He didn't want to think about how much time had gone by, or how different everything was, or how everyone he'd known was most likely dead. Several of his best friends definitely were; he had witnessed the event that had taken them, and this was his punishment for not going with them. But that was in the past...old news, as he once would have called it. He shook his head, willing himself to focus on the present. They were at peace now, he could console himself with that. And there were more pressing subjects of concern to him now. There was a whole new world out there -- who knows what kind of advances they'd made while he was gone? He would have to reacquaint himself with the rest of the world. Plus he had his new duties to perform, and a young lady who obviously could use his help in her studies. Not that she wasn't capable, he knew, but someone so young could always benefit from the assistance of someone older and wiser.and someone who could give her a magical edge.  
  
He smiled again, his earlier distress now firmly pushed to the back of his mind. "Mistress, I would like to thank you again for releasing me from my bottle. I am your genie; I am yours to command, and you may have anything you desire."  
  
"Um.do you mean three wishes, or something like that?"  
  
"Oh no, Mistress," he assured her. "I am yours forever."  
  
She frowned. "That might not be easy.my dorm room isn't all that big, and there's not much room for even me in it..."  
  
"That won't a problem, Mistress. I will stay in my bottle when I'm not needed, and while I'm sleeping." He smiled warmly. He was starting to feel better about his situation, and was actually looking forward to beginning his duties. "Is there anything else, Mistress?"  
  
"Well, yes.I need you to stop calling me 'Mistress'. I don't know what it meant back in the Olden Days, but lately it has kind of a negative connotation."  
  
"But Mistress, I can't do that," he replied, his brow furrowing. How could he? It was against protocol, and besides, it felt wrong to refer to her as anything else. "It just wouldn't be right."  
  
She sighed. "OK, maybe you could just call me that in private. If anyone else is there, you can just call me by my name. Would that be all right?"  
  
"Yes, Mistress.what is your name?"  
  
"Jean."  
  
"Jean?" he repeated doubtfully.  
  
"Yes. Jean Charlotte Mackenzie. But you can call me Jean," she said. "And what's your name? What should I call you?"  
  
He paused. Now *that* was the problem.usually genies just called themselves Jeannie (if female) or Gene (if male). Serving someone with either of those names had obviously never come up before! But he supposed he could use the name Hadji gave him when he became a genie. It began the same way as his original one, so it wouldn't be that difficult to get used to.  
  
He told his new Mistress his name -- all twelve syllables of it.  
  
She looked like her eyes were glazing over. She tried to repeat it, making it only a little way in before stopping and shaking her head. "I don't think I can manage anything that long. Would you mind if I just used the first part of it? The first couple of syllables?"  
  
"Do you mean 'Roger'?" he offered, hoping almost desperately that she would allow this. It was his only link back to his former life, after all. Hadji had at least allowed his new name to take elements of his old one.  
  
"Would that be all right?" she asked.  
  
"That would be perfect, Mistress." He looked away for a moment, then smiled sadly, his bright blue eyes mistier for a moment. "A long time ago, my friends used to call me Roger..." 


	2. Part 02

Roger, bottle in hand, followed after the girl as she walked him through the lab and the rest of the building. She led him up two flights of stairs, and then through a twisting maze of empty, dimly-lit corridors. She evidently knew her way around -- probably after years of practice, he reasoned. If she was writing a thesis, she must be a senior.   
  
His mind wandered back to his own college days. Happy times, filled with pleasant memories and dreams of flight. It all seemed so long ago. Now he had a new mission in life, here in the middle of the twenty-first century. No doubt there were all kinds of amazing, futuristic things out there. Maybe there were flying cars. Maybe NASA had a base on the moon, or on Mars. Maybe they had discovered life on other worlds. Who knows what wonders awaited him?  
  
He was so busy thinking about what this incredible new world of the future might hold that he nearly bumped into Jean when she stopped abruptly, right in front of a door, and whirled around to face him.  
  
"Wait a minute, you can't go outside like that," she said earnestly. "What will people say when they see you? We could tell them you just got back from a costume party, but there aren't any on campus tonight…."  
  
"Would you like me to change my clothes, Mistress?" he asked, after quickly taking a step back. He wasn't the most graceful person on Earth, but it wouldn't do to crash into the poor girl so soon after they'd met.  
  
She cocked her head. "You can do that?"  
  
"Of course I can," he replied confidently. That was one of the easiest tricks in the book.  
  
"Good," she said, her relief evident. "'Cause you're looking kinda retro, there."  
  
//I can do this,// Roger told himself. //Jeannie must have done it hundreds of times. It's simple.//   
  
He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and blinked.   
  
He glanced at Jean, expecting oohs and aahs at the magic, or at least a word of approval on his choice of apparel. Neither of those reactions were displayed. Instead, she was standing there with her arms folded and a dubious look on her face.  
  
"Is there something wrong, Mistress?"  
  
"Um, you're still looking a little old-fashioned," she began. "When were you last out,   
  
the 1960's?"  
  
He looked down at himself. He had chosen the most stylish-yet-casual things he could think of, and yes, they were from the 1960's. Very fashionable, he thought, but he didn't want to look out of place. "What would be more appropriate?"  
  
She tugged at the side of her jeans (these looked like they hadn't changed much since the twentieth century). "Well, if you made the legs of the pants a little more like mine, and the heels of the shoes a little lower, and the shirt blue instead of lilac…."  
  
He nodded, then made the corrections. She beamed at him. "Perfect."  
  
"Thank you," he beamed back, never one to turn down a compliment from a pretty girl.  
  
She looked down for a moment. "So this is actually real," she said….as if still trying to prove to herself that she wasn't insane, or hallucinating, or otherwise mentally disturbed. "This is really happening."  
  
"Yes, it is," he replied simply, giving into the urge to pat her on the shoulder. "It gets easier with time. Trust me."  
  
"How…." she began. "How exactly does this work again?"  
  
"I am a genie. You released me," he said, knowing how difficult this was for her -- it had been the same for him, seventy-odd years ago. "And because you released me, I now serve you. I am yours."  
  
She frowned. Roger thought the expression was rather appealing, but wisely chose not to comment on it. "You're 'mine'? You mean, like property?" she asked, her previous expression turning to one of dismay. "No. That's not right," she said slowly. "I can't *own* another person…."  
  
"Mistress," he interrupted gently. "It's not like that. It's not 'ownership'. It's more like...being an employee of a very small company, or being in the army." He brightened; that was an excellent description of how he felt. It was like a job, one that he enjoyed and took pride in. It wasn't all that different from his time in the service. And he was sure he couldn't have found a better person to release him.   
  
"Yeah, but you can quit a job if you don't like it, and you eventually get out of the army," she countered. She still didn't look convinced.  
  
Roger rubbed his chin, trying to think of a better way to explain it. She was clearly very kind, for the idea of this indentured servitude to affect her so strongly. He could tell that the whole concept still bothered her….and he felt a little guilty that he hadn't even considered this aspect of it until it was happening to him. He hadn't given it much thought when it was Jeannie who was doing the 'serving'. He'd just assumed that she liked doing it.  
  
"Let me put it another way," he said thoughtfully. "It's similar to being in the army, but you really like your C.O., and you want to do a good job because you know what a nice person he is. Or she is, as the case may be." He rocked back on his heels, smiling.  
  
She looked at him skeptically. "Nice person? I'm not particularly nice. I can be sarcastic and stubborn, and I have a problem with authority figures. Everyone tells me so."  
  
"I think that might just be a way to protect your vulnerable inner self from the possibility of being wounded emotionally by others," he said knowingly. He'd learned enough about her from their initial meeting to figure out the basics of her personality; and he could throw the psychobabble around just as well as the shrinks from NASA used to. He'd certainly heard enough of it over the years.  
  
Jean still didn't looked convinced. "I laughed when I saw a jogger slip on some ice and go head-over-heels twice before going headfirst into a snowbank," she pointed out.  
  
Roger hated to admit it, but he probably would have laughed as well. He shrugged. "You don't take things too seriously, and you can laugh at the unexpected events life throws you."  
  
She narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "I once ran over somebody's entire set of lawn furniture and kept on going."  
  
This one he had to think about. "You don't let obstacles stand in your way." He was proud of himself for coming up with that one.  
  
She shook her head and sighed. "I'm not going to win this one, am I."  
  
"I don't think so, Mistress," he said smugly.   
  
"Ah, but at least I got you to start using contractions," she replied, as if this was a major victory.  
  
"Oh," he replied, a little surprised -- but glad to finally be losing the genie-speak. "So, are we leaving now, Mistress?"   
  
"I guess so."  
  
"Good. I'm looking forward to seeing….pretty much everything, actually."  
  
"All right," she said determinedly. "Let's go." And with that, she opened the door 


	3. Part 03

Cool air flowed over them as they stepped out into the night.  
  
Roger looked around. He could honestly say that he'd never been so glad to see the sky, the grass, and the faces of other people. There were small groups of students walking on the paths nearby, but the traffic was light, probably due to the time of day. A slight breeze was blowing, rustling Jean's hair and the tree branches above them.  
  
He couldn't keep the silly grin off his face. "I am so happy to be outside."  
  
"Yeah, the campus is nice at night," she agreed. She probably thought he meant 'outside' as not within the building, but he meant something more. Being inside a bottle for long periods of time put a genie into something like suspended animation. (To keep them from going mad with boredom, he supposed.) He would have had no idea how much time had gone by if Jean hadn't told him what year it was.  
  
"So what do you study, Mistress?" he asked, as they began walking towards one of the neighboring buildings.  
  
"Archaeology. Oh, and I'm minoring in chemistry," she added, pulling what looked like a credit card or driver's license from her pocket. "I'd like to work in artifact preservation, but I want to go to grad school. I think. It's so hard to decide sometimes.there are times when I *know*, for sure, that I want to keep going in school and get a master's degree. Then there are other times that I'm certain I want to get out there and start working."  
  
"I know what you're going through," he murmured. When he was in school, it was a choice between joining the military or trying to find an industry that would train him to fly. In the end, he'd chosen the army. He never regretted it.it had gotten him into the space program, after all.  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked curiously. "Do you get to pick what sort of genie you want to be, or something like that?"  
  
"Mmm.not exactly," he replied, biting his tongue. He'd let too much slip; he wasn't supposed to discuss his previous life with anyone he was serving, unless of course they specifically asked him about it. "What I meant was, there are a lot of times when things may seem very clear, but then there are other times when they're not."  
  
Jean's brow furrowed in confusion. "Well.thank you. I think." She shook her head as if she had no idea what he was talking about. "Sometimes all I want to do is just pick one or the other, right now, and be done with it."  
  
"But sometimes the best thing to do is to wait," he reminded her. "You're young. You have plenty of time to decide what you want to do." Then the genie-part of him kicked in. "I'm sure you'll make the right choice, when the time comes."  
  
This made her smile. "Thanks. You really made me feel better," she said. "Is that part of your job? To cheer people up?"  
  
"I just want you to be happy, Mistress. That's all. It's not necessarily part of the job, but I do think it would be nice if you were."  
  
"Hey, Jeannie," called a voice from behind them. Both of them turned.  
  
The brunette's face lit up. "Hey, Annie," she said, waving and waiting for the other girl to catch up with them. "Whatcha doin'?"  
  
"Just finished studying for my Econ exam," replied the petite blonde. "Who's your friend?"  
  
For an instant, Jean's face went completely blank. "Roger," she said, recovering swiftly. "This is Roger. He's-"  
  
"-a graduate student from the University of Wisconsin," he stated firmly. He hadn't bothered to ask Jean which school this actually was, but he could tell by the position of the north star that he was somewhere in the mid- latitudes of the U.S. Far from Wisconsin. At least his appearance, since becoming a genie, had been returned to something a bit younger than he'd been before. Almost like when he'd started at NASA. He was very grateful for that right now.  
  
"Really? What are you studying?" the girl asked.  
  
"Aerodynamics and aeronautical engineering," he replied easily. It was the only thing he could think of, and besides, it was something he actually knew about. If he'd said anthropology or law he would never have been able to fake it. This was something he didn't have to fake. The physics behind flight couldn't have changed that much since the 20th century.could they?  
  
"Wow, that sounds really interesting," Annie said eagerly. "So what are you doing here on the east coast? You're a long way from Wisconsin."  
  
"He's looking into getting a research grant here, because." Jean's face contorted a bit. "Because his lab burned down. Completely. It's going to take months to rebuild, and he lost a lot of data, so he's seeing if he can work with one of our professors until it's done." Her eyes, once she'd finished her 'explanation', had lost the panicked look they'd had at the beginning of it.  
  
"That's just what I was about to say," Roger added.  
  
"That's a shame about what happened to your lab," the shorter girl said. "But it's really cool that you came here. You know what a great physics department we have."  
  
"Yes," he replied, hoping he wasn't going to be asked how he'd chosen this particular school, when he had no idea which one of the hundreds of American colleges and universities it was.  
  
"Well, I hope you like it here. Gotta get going -- I've got an Urban Planning project to work on. Bye, guys."  
  
"Bye, don't work too hard," said Jean.sagging in relief once the other girl had turned and left.  
  
"Bye, hope to see you again soon," Roger called after her. Come to think of it, she was kind of cute too. Not as attractive as his Mistress, of course, but who could be?  
  
He rolled his eyes at that thought. The part of himself that had been changed by Hadji was apparently working in overdrive. Why else would he even consider confining himself to one girl?  
  
"Jeez, that was close," the brunette whispered, once her fellow student was out of hearing distance. "How'd you come up with that great story about engineering and aerodynamics and stuff?"  
  
He shrugged. "Oh, well.it just sort of popped into my head."  
  
"I'm glad it did," she declared. "But now we're going to have to stick with it. I dunno, I hadn't exactly thought about you walking around campus."  
  
Roger hurried to reassure her. There was so much he needed to catch up on, and he didn't want to be stuck in his bottle while he was trying to do it. "I promise there won't be any problems, Mistress -- I'll be very, very careful not to do anything suspicious or out of the ordinary when anyone else is around. You can count on me." He deliberately ignored how familiar that statement sounded.because it sounded exactly like what Jeannie used to say to Tony. Of course, there were big differences between himself and Jeannie. Jeannie looked better in a little bikini top, for one thing. And Jeannie was born a few thousand years ago. *He* was from the twentieth century, just a stone's throw away (relatively) from where he was now. Or when he was now. So he wasn't going to make the same mistakes Jeannie had, because he was too clever and too experienced to get his Mistress into all those crazy situations that had been so common with Jeannie. The situation was well in hand and under control. Right? Right.  
  
"That's good," sighed Jean. "I was a little worried there, for a minute."  
  
"I just need to know one more thing, something that will make everything much easier," he said.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
He paused for a moment, looking around at the buildings again. "Could you please tell me just where exactly we are?" 


	4. Part 04

Mistress and genie walked across the campus at a leisurely pace, while the brunette anxiously went over everything Roger would need to know for his 'cover story'.  
  
Roger chuckled. He was glad for the helpful hints on life in the twenty- first century, of course, but he didn't think she had to worry so much. All he really needed were the basics -- the most important of which was their location. He was pleasantly surprised when she told him where they were.it was one of those small, east coast liberal arts colleges, very hard to get into unless you were extremely bright. Which meant, by extension, that Jean was extremely bright. That was good. He'd already gotten that impression of her anyway, just from their initial meeting. He was also starting to feel more like his old self, which was also good. It meant that being changed from a human being into something else hadn't changed his fundamental nature. That 'self' was still the same, even though it was wrapped in a slightly different package.  
  
That was what he'd worried about most, when he'd been brought before Hadji and informed of his fate, so long ago. What would this change do to him? Would it alter his personality, make him different enough to be almost another person? Or was he going to end up as a mindless servant, indentured to whoever happened to open his bottle?  
  
In the end, it was none of these. He felt exactly the same, other than a little more ethereal (he couldn't come up with anything better to describe it), especially when coming out of his bottle -- the sensation was rather pleasant, actually. And after knowing Jeannie for so long, he couldn't help but laugh at his earlier fears. He should have known better. But then, he should have known better about a lot of other things too. Common sense was never one of his strong points.  
  
Jean was still holding the card she'd taken out before, and now that they were approaching a building with a well-lit entranceway, he was able to see that it had her picture on it. There was a metal box on the door with a slot that looked about the same size as the ID card. She slid it through; then there was a click from inside the box.  
  
"Come on in," she said, pulling the now unlocked door open.  
  
Roger didn't move.  
  
"What's the matter?" she asked.  
  
He gestured at the door. "This is a women's dormitory."  
  
"Yes.?"  
  
Roger frowned. His Mistress looked confused, as if she didn't understand why he might be hesitant to enter. Were things really so different in 2037? He'd gotten into enough trouble while he was in college to never want to try sneaking up to a girl's room again! But he was shocked at how blasé she was about the whole idea. He didn't know what to say. "But.but what would people say if they saw a man going up to your room at this time of night?" he finally protested.  
  
She laughed, a bright, bubbly sound. "They won't say anything. Really, it's not a big deal. At least, not anymore it's not. Come on in."  
  
Roger shook his head as he followed her into the building. "I think I was born about a hundred years too early," he muttered to himself.  
  
Once inside, they passed a few people talking quietly in the halls.and, true to his Mistress's words, nobody seemed concerned about his presence. No-one questioned either of them as they went up to the second floor, down the hallway, and into a side corridor. Roger was glancing around nervously, as if he expected the house mother or resident assistant to storm out of her suite and berate him for immoral behavior. Jean couldn't help but notice his apprehension, which made her giggle again. She was still amused when they stopped in front of a door decorated with photos and pictures and fuzzy dice hanging from the top.  
  
Unlike the key card that let them into the building, this time she pulled out an old-fashioned key to unlock the deadbolt. "Well, here we are," she said, opening the door.  
  
Roger peered over her shoulder dubiously. The room was a mess. He'd seen hurricanes leave less damage than what was in there.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked suspiciously.  
  
"Wrong? Oh nothing.nothing Mistress, nothing," he said, trying to keep his tone even. He'd never been much of a neat freak, but this was too much. "It's just.well, is there space for my bottle in there?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course there is," she replied. She stepped over a few books on the floor and cleared off a small area on the bookshelf. "There, how's that?"  
  
He still looked unconvinced.  
  
She put her hands on her hips and pouted prettily (or so he believed). "You pick a spot then," she said offhandedly.  
  
"No, Mistress, it's fine. Really." He placed the bottle in the space she'd provided, not wanting to make her feel bad just because her living quarters looked like a bomb had gone off in them. "Would you mind if I.tidied things up a bit?"  
  
"Sure, go ahead," she said with a shrug.  
  
Hoping that he hadn't offended her too much, he concentrated on what he wanted done, then blinked. Instantly, everything started to move towards their proper places. Soon books were on shelves, clothes were in closets, socks (and other more interesting articles that he wanted to get a better look at later) were in drawers.  
  
Jean's eyes widened. "Wow, thank you Roger, that was really nice," she beamed. "This'll make it a lot easier for me to study, without having to search for everything." She picked up one of the notebooks from her desk and sat down on the bed, as if preparing to get back to work.  
  
The genie's eyebrows went up. "You mean you're going to study *now*?" he asked plaintively.  
  
"Sure, it's only ten o'clock. And it's Saturday, so I don't have to be up early tomorrow morning."  
  
Roger couldn't believe his ears. "It's Saturday night?" he repeated. "What are you doing studying on a Saturday night? Why aren't you out having fun?"  
  
"Because I have to study," she said, as if that was that.  
  
Roger was still skeptical. What kind of a co-ed was this? He tried to reason with her. "Look, I know that you need to keep on top of your schoolwork, but that doesn't mean you can't take time out to enjoy yourself," he said. "Besides, I've been stuck in that bottle for ages. I'd like to get some fresh air, have fun, go out and see the sights."  
  
She stared at him dourly. "This is a small town. There are no sights."  
  
"Wouldn't you like to go out for a late dinner? And maybe some dancing?" he cajoled, taking her hand and easing her gently to a standing position. He blinked, turning her jeans and t-shirt into an evening gown, complete with diamond accents and French perfume. "There, you look wonderful. C'mon, let's get going, I know the nicest little place near the Louvre." he said, taking her by the arm and preparing to blink them to the fanciest restaurant in Paris.  
  
She looked down at herself in astonishment, then back at him. "No, I can't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
She glared at him. "I'm tired."  
  
"Oh, don't worry, Mistress, I can take care of that." he began, but she interrupted him. She had a strange expression on her face, one that made him pause.  
  
"No, I mean.this has been a really weird day for me, you know?" she said, dropping back down onto the bed and gazing skyward. "Everything was going along just fine, everything was completely normal, and then some guy pops out of what looks like an old Jim Beam bottle in a big puff of smoke and says he's my genie, and I'm expected to just be OK with all that like it's something that happens every day." She shook her head wearily. "I really think I need to get some sleep."  
  
Roger nodded in understanding. Going out on the town could wait until she'd gotten more comfortable with the situation. "Well, when you put it that way." He patted her on the arm. "Whenever you're ready. Until then, I'll be glad to do anything you want. Your wish is my command, as they say," he finished with a chuckle.  
  
"Thank you," she sighed in relief. "I really am tired, you know. Could you, um." She gestured down at her clothing.  
  
He nodded again and blinked, but instead of what she'd been wearing earlier, he gave her a set of pink silk pajamas. She was back on the bed, sitting up, with the covers pulled up to her waist.  
  
"Thank you," she said again. "And will you be OK overnight, in there? In the bottle?"  
  
"Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you for asking."  
  
She smiled, looking suddenly very sweet and shy and sleepy. "And thanks for cleaning this place up. I get so involved with my work that sometimes I let things slip," she yawned. She reached over, flicking off the light. "Goodnight."  
  
"Goodnight, Mistress. If you need anything, just say something. But you have to do it out loud. It doesn't work if it's not spoken."  
  
"Mmm.all right." She sounded half asleep already. In a few more minutes she'd be out like a light.  
  
Roger smiled, with an expression of extreme self-satisfaction. He rubbed his hands together, then smoked himself back into his bottle. His first day as a genie and he was doing great. And why wouldn't he? Here he was, with a lovely and intelligent young woman; and him looking like he had even before the moon landings. He had incredible magical powers and the ability to make a person's dreams come true. He would age at a nearly imperceptible rate and would live (barring accidents) for a few thousand years at least. What more could a man ask for? He felt like he was on top of the world.  
  
Little did the man once called Roger Healey know, that at that very moment, far away, a tiny bell had rung. A bell on a magical timer, almost like an alarm clock. In itself it was innocent, innocuous, but what it signaled was not.  
  
Its owner stalked over to investigate, making sure that the 'alarm' had actually gone off. She tapped the device, then picked it up.crushing it, then flinging its remains across the room.  
  
She'd been waiting for this for a very long time.  
  
And the revenge she'd planned would be very, very sweet. 


	5. Part 05

The next morning Roger woke early, even though he'd stayed up late the night before reading his genie manual (standard issue to all new genies, and written in an ancient Persian dialect that now, for some reason, he could understand). He had come up with all kinds of wonderful plans for pleasing his new Mistress, brilliant ideas on how to make her life better -- things that *he* certainly would have appreciated when he was still a normal human being! He could complete her thesis in the blink of an eye. He could get her into the graduate school of her choice, or see that she got her dream job. He could put all the answers to her next exam in her head so she'd have time for things that were a lot more fun than studying. Or maybe he would simply give her so much money that she would never have to worry about work or school again.  
  
Now he knew how Jeannie had felt when Tony rescued her. There was a sense of freedom, as well as a sense of purpose to it all. He couldn't wait to get started.  
  
After coming out of his bottle in the requisite puff of blue smoke, he reappeared in solid form, wearing what he'd had on when he'd been released, what he thought of as his 'uniform' for the job, rather than the newfangled clothes he'd created last night. (The 'uniform' was surprisingly comfortable, and he could see why Jeannie used to wear hers most of the time.) He had decided that the best thing to do until his Mistress was awake was to reacquaint himself with where she was living. Now that it had been straightened up, he wanted a better look around. Even in the dim light he could see the typical student items like textbooks and notes, as well as a small refrigerator with a television perched somewhat precariously on top of it. There was one of those keyboard-and-flat-screened computers on her desk, with a clock next to it that said it was 8:34 AM.  
  
In her bed, Jean stirred, pushing away the covers and murmuring something softly. She turned so that she was lying on her side, facing out towards him.  
  
Roger smiled and crept closer. She looked so sweet, lying there sleeping. Like a little angel. He could just stand there and watch her for hours...  
  
Jean's eyes opened slightly, peering out in that half-asleep Sunday morning way. Not quite awake yet, it was just a coincidence that they happened to fall on the shadowy figure standing by her bed. She gasped and let out a small sound of distress.  
  
Roger, noting the alarmed look on her face, took a step forward. "Don't worry Mistress, it's only me," he began, but it was too late. A tiny, delicate foot shot out towards him...and connected with his stomach like a sledge hammer.  
  
He went down like a sack of potatoes, doubled over on the floor beside her bed. He couldn't move, he couldn't talk. He couldn't even ask her nicely not to kick him again.  
  
Through the pain, he couldn't help but be surprised that even as a genie, he could still have the wind knocked out of him.  
  
Jean's eyes widened in shock and, fully awake now, she sat up. "Ohmigod, I'm so sorry -- I didn't know it was you, I thought there was somebody in here -- are you OK?"  
  
Still gasping and clutching his abdomen, he forced himself to nod. He didn't think he was up to speaking any actual words yet. He could only be thankful that she hadn't hit him anywhere lower.  
  
She jumped out of bed and knelt down beside him, grasping him by the shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Roger...are you really all right?"  
  
"Yeah," he wheezed. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Where did you learn to do that?"  
  
She looked incredibly apologetic. "In the self-defense class for P.E."  
  
"I hope...you got an 'A'."  
  
"Let me get you a drink of water or something..."  
  
"No...thank you...I think I just need to lie here for a while."  
  
"Let me help you," she said, pulling him into a semi-upright position and guiding him onto the bed. He was still curled up in a ball, but he was on his side, which made him slightly more comfortable. "Is that any better?" she asked.  
  
"Yes...thank you Mistress," he said, hoping that her feet (as well as her fists, knees, and elbows) would stay far away from the more delicate portions of his anatomy. He wondered if he should blink himself to the nearest hospital.  
  
She sat down on the bed next to him and took his hand. "I am very, very sorry. All I saw was somebody standing over me, and I panicked."  
  
"That's probably a good thing," he murmured. "It might have been some crazy person who'd broken in after stealing an old 'Arabian Nights' costume."  
  
"Are you *sure* you're all right?"  
  
This time he managed a half-smile. "Yes."  
  
"Well, OK," she said, as if she still wasn't quite convinced. "Um, I guess since I'm up, I should probably go take a shower. Would you like to watch some TV? The remote's by the bed."  
  
He didn't think he could reach it just yet, but he nodded anyway, watching as she went over to the door. "I'll be back soon," she said. "Until then...just rest."  
  
He could do that. He could do that very well. Maybe by the time she got back he'd be able to walk again.  
  
He exhaled slowly, concentrating on getting his breathing back to normal; and his gaze wandered around the room. Now that the lights were on, he could see all the posters and pictures that adorned the walls -- there were a lot of things he didn't recognize, and a few that he did, but there was one that caught his eye. It was a picture of the Earth from space, probably taken on some orbital flight or lunar mission. He smiled, remembering the times when he'd actually seen that view. Maybe she'd like to see it too. He could certainly do that for the person who'd rescued him (even though she had a kick like Bruce Lee). A trip to the moon, or Mars, or Venus would be great fun for both of them. She'd said there were no sights to see around here, so why not a tour through the solar system?  
  
He was so lost in thought that he was startled when the door opened a little while later, revealing his Mistress wearing nothing but a towel.  
  
"Sorry I took so long," she said, closing the door behind her and going over to the closet. She emerged with a pair of khaki pants and a black shirt. "Nothing like a good hot shower to wake you up, right?"  
  
"Right," he said, sitting up (now that he was able to) and politely facing away from her. If she was going to get dressed, he wouldn't be watching. At least not directly.  
  
From where he was, he could just see her reflection in the mirror by the bed.  
  
He fought the urge for a few moments, then shrugged. What could it hurt?  
  
Casually, he shifted his position so he could get a better look. //Just for a little while,// he thought. He was feeling very pleased with himself, watching her pick out what she wanted, until she leaned down and started rooting around in a lower drawer...  
  
What he saw shocked him.  
  
"Mistress?" he exclaimed, turning around to face her. "What is *that*?"  
  
Jean shot to her feet and yanked her towel up. "What's what?" she asked, looking around as if expecting to see something dangerous crawling towards her.  
  
"That thing on your back, that's what," he demanded.  
  
She relaxed, but she looked a little confused. "Do you mean my tattoo?" she asked.  
  
"*Yes*, I mean your tattoo," he replied in disbelief. "What in the world are you doing with a tattoo?"  
  
"Oh, they're very popular these days; they have been for years...since the 1990's I think, for both girls and guys," she said. "And by the way, I don't have *a* tattoo. I have three tattoos."  
  
"*Three* tattoos?" He was sure that his voice cracked on that one.  
  
"Sure -- there's the Celtic one on my back, the moon and stars on my shoulder...and I'd offer to show you the hummingbird on my butt, but since you were watching me in the mirror you've probably already seen it," she retorted, glaring at him. "Do you have some sort of problem with body art, or just a problem with voyeurism?"  
  
"I was only going to watch until you actually started to get dressed," he proclaimed loftily. He was determined to explain this in a way that wouldn't offend her, so he was going to try his best to be diplomatic and not get distracted by her turning the whole thing around and making *him* look like the bad guy. "Where I come from, girls don't get tattoos...except for Janis Joplin, and she wasn't your typical girl."  
  
"Really?" she said, still standing there in her towel. "And that was how many years ago? Back when girls could only be secretaries or housewives? Back when women couldn't be governor or president? Times have changed, you know."  
  
Roger was standing his ground. "I still think they're a bad idea -- I'm just looking out for your best interests," he replied. He turned away slightly, rubbing his forehead so his eyes were covered...and then blinked.  
  
Jean didn't miss what he'd done. Her eyes narrowed, and she twisted around, trying to see her back in the mirror. When she saw that her shoulder (and presumably the other areas hidden by the towel) were bare, her jaw dropped. "You...you put them back, do you hear me? Put them back right now."  
  
Roger frowned and folded his arms, no more able to disobey a direct order than when he'd been in the army. "Mistress..." he began, hoping to talk her out of it. What would people think years from now? He remembered all the lectures against tattoos that he'd gotten when he'd first joined the army, and he was a man -- whatever would possess a bunch of young people, particularly girls, to go out and get the things?  
  
"Come on," she said. "If you can take them off you can put them on again. Do it."  
  
"All right, all right. Don't be angry; I thought I was doing you a favor," he muttered, and blinked again.  
  
Jean's face showed triumph...for about one second. Then her eyes widened. She twitched a few times, then grimaced.  
  
"OW!" she screeched, gripping the edges of her towel hard enough to make her knuckles white. "I meant put them back the way they were, not re-tattoo me! Owwww..."  
  
Roger gulped; he hadn't expected that reversing the magic would have an effect like *that*. "Oh Mistress, I'm sorry -- I didn't mean for that to happen..." his voice trailed off helplessly as he watched her gather up her clothes. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I think it might be safer if I got dressed in the bathroom," she replied, grabbing her sneakers and heading for the door.  
  
"No, you don't have to do that -- listen, I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I'll go back in my bottle and I won't come out until you say you're fully dressed. I promise."  
  
"Well..." she said, frowning. "All right. But go back in first, before I start."  
  
"Yes, Mistress," he replied, as if in response to an order from a superior officer (he almost wanted to salute). There was a flash of blue, and then he was back in the bottle.  
  
Jean leaned over and looked inside; all Roger could see of her was a big gray-blue eye and some mascara. He waved, then covered his own eyes, as if trying to prove that he wasn't going to peek.  
  
"OK, then," she said warily.  
  
"I'm sorry," he apologized again.  
  
"Are your eyes still closed?"  
  
"Yes, they are," he called. "Can't see a thing."  
  
There were some fumbling sounds for a short while, then silence. "All right, I'm finished. You can come out now."  
  
Turquoise smoke issued from the bottle, and Roger reappeared. Just as he was about to say something, there was a knock on the door. "Hey Jean, you ready yet?" called a male voice from outside.  
  
Jean jumped, then glanced wildly around the room. "Back in the bottle," she hissed; then, in a louder voice, "Just a minute, guys!"  
  
"Hurry up -- they've got Belgian waffles today," came another voice, this one female and extraordinarily perky.  
  
"Who's that?" Roger whispered.  
  
"That's Annie, the girl we met last night on the path," she whispered back.  
  
"I didn't mean *her*, I meant the other one."  
  
"Oh. That's Gary, he's a poli-sci major."  
  
He tried to keep the suspicion out of his tone -- he knew what these college men could be like, having been one himself. "Is he a friend of yours?" he asked casually.  
  
"Yes, of course he's a friend of mine," she said in exasperation. "And so are Annie and Lynn and the rest of them out there, who are waiting for me so we can go over to the dining hall to get Sunday brunch."  
  
"Brunch sounds good. Can I come with you?"  
  
"*No*...jeez, what if they catch you in here?"  
  
"Wait a minute...I thought you said nobody cared about that sort of thing anymore."  
  
"They care when they think I've just picked up some guy they don't know."  
  
"Jean...?" came another voice from outside.  
  
"Almost ready -- just getting my pants on," she called frantically. "Roger, get back in your bottle before anyone comes in and thinks I've been sleeping with some grad student from Wisconsin."  
  
He 'hmphed' and folded his arms, then did as she asked. But from inside the bottle, he could hear the students' conversation after the door opened. (Having his ear pressed to the inside wall helped.)  
  
"Hey -- you cleaned," said Annie, sounding rather stunned.  
  
"Wow, she really did...I've never seen her room so neat before. The end of the world must be coming," said another female voice (presumably Lynn or one of the others).  
  
"Quick, call CNN and tell them we have the story of the year!"  
  
"Ha ha ha," said Jean nervously. Roger could imagine her trying to herd the others out the door before any of them got a look at his bottle.  
  
"We may have to take a picture of this for posterity," laughed Gary.  
  
"I'll bet you five dollars that by the end of the week it'll look like it did before," was Annie's reply.  
  
"You're on."  
  
Jean snorted. "So are you guys ready, or are we just going to stand around all day? I'm hungry."  
  
"Yeah, let's get going."  
  
Roger waited until after the door was closed, and the students' voices grew so faint that they faded into nothing. When he was sure they had gone, he blinked himself out and into the middle of the room. He went over to the window, lifting the shade carefully and peeking out. He was looking for people outside -- he wanted to see what they were wearing. It wouldn't do to go outside before a quick change of clothes, and he didn't want to show up in the same pants and blue shirt he'd had on last night. When he spotted a group of students walking across campus, he took a moment to study their apparel; then he blinked himself into something that looked similar. He couldn't bear the thought of being cooped up any longer, not on a Sunday morning and especially not when brunch was being served. He was certain that Mistress would understand how unpleasant any confinement would be, after so many years of being trapped in the bottle.  
  
He went over to the mirror (the one that had gotten him in trouble earlier). Satisfied with his appearance, he left the room, retracing his steps from last night until he got to the front door of the dormitory. He stepped out into the cool morning sunlight.  
  
Now all he had to do was find the dining hall. 


	6. Part 06

All in all, it really wasn't that hard to find where brunch was being served. Roger simply asked the first person who came walking by, who obligingly pointed it out and told him how much it cost to get in. (The boy also informed him that they had waffles today, which only intrigued him more.) Roger remembered seeing a mug on Jean's desk that was half-filled with change and dollar bills -- definitely enough to get in. He used his magic to transport the cash into his waiting hands, then headed off for his first meal in more than half a century.  
  
Once he'd paid and gone inside, he scanned the room, looking for his Mistress. He spotted her at one of the middle tables, sitting with a group of her friends. "Jean!" he called pleasantly, waving and heading over.  
  
The brunette almost choked on her mouthful of waffle when she caught sight of him. By the time Roger had reached the table, however, she'd recovered enough to speak. "Hey, Roger, what are you doing here?" she managed to sputter.  
  
"Well, I keep hearing how good these waffles are, so I decided to try them myself. Plus, since it looks like I'm going to be staying here, I thought it would be a good idea to get acquainted with things on campus." She certainly couldn't argue with that, he thought to himself. "Besides, it seems like I've been cooped up forever, and I'm feeling kind of claustrophobic. I just had to get out."  
  
"Sit right down," said Annie, pulling out the chair next to her. "It's nice to see you again." To the others, she said, "This is Roger.he's a grad student who might be doing some work here."  
  
"Oh yeah, you were talking about him last night," said Gary.  
  
"You were talking about me?" he asked, rather pleased that he'd made a good first impression.  
  
"Yeah -- it's a shame about what happened to your lab," said one of the girls at the table. She, as well as most of the others, were having the waffles.  
  
Roger smiled brightly at Jean. "Aren't you going to introduce me to everyone?"  
  
Her cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink. "Um, this is Gary, and Lynn, and Didi, and you already met Annie."  
  
"It's nice to meet all of you," he replied graciously.  
  
"Why don't you go up and get your food, and then we'll get better acquainted?" said Annie.  
  
"That sounds great.now, where do I go to get it -"  
  
"I'll show you where everything is," said Jean, through clenched teeth. "I need some more coffee anyway."  
  
"Oh, that's wonderful, Jean." he began, as she practically pulled him up and out of his seat. Still half-dragging him, she stopped in front of a shelf filled with cereal boxes, away from the main part of the room.  
  
"*What* are you doing here?" she demanded, once they were out of sight of the others. "I thought I told you to stay where you were."  
  
"You didn't say *that*, Mistress," he replied innocently. "You told me not to come with you; you didn't say anything about not coming later."  
  
"I can't believe you -- what if you get caught?" she retorted. "What if somebody figures out what you are? They'll lock you up, or use you to do things you might not want to. They might even dissect you to see what makes you tick."  
  
He grasped her gently by the shoulders. "Mistress, I'm much too clever for that," he assured her. He'd kept Dr. Bellows off his tail for all those years.the man had been suspicious, yes, but he'd never been able to prove a thing. And that was before he'd had supernatural powers of his own! He didn't have a thing to worry about, he was sure of it.  
  
"So," he beamed, hoping to change the subject of discussion to something other than his presence in the dining hall. "Let's see about those waffles." He headed off eagerly to the serving section.  
  
Jean glared helplessly, but followed after him.  
  
***  
  
The conversation over brunch went as well as could be expected, considering that Jean was trying to hurry the others up and Roger was eating like it was about to be outlawed. When they finally finished their meal, Jean made excuses to the others that she needed to study and wouldn't be available until the evening. Roger said his goodbyes, then ducked around a corner and popped back to Jean's room so that he would be there when she returned. He needn't have been so eager to get back; she was still furious that he'd shown up for the meal in the first place. Roger attempted again to explain why he'd come after her; and when that didn't work, he'd turned on the sweet-talk, guaranteed to coax even the most reluctant girl around to his way of thinking. But she still wouldn't give in. The oh-so-sweet soul he'd seen in her was overlain by a thick layer of self-righteousness and stubbornness. She was inflexible, uncompromising, and unmoved by anything he'd said. As a last resort, he'd fallen back on that old standby: bribery. He was trying everything, but she wasn't going for any of it.  
  
"What do you mean you don't want a mink coat?" he asked in disbelief, after a number of suggestions of things she might want.  
  
She folded her arms. "Fur is murder."  
  
"But you were wearing a leather jacket this morning! Isn't that the same sort of thing?"  
  
"I can't wear the skin of something that was killed for no other reason than to cater to the vanity of a small group of misguided consumers," she proclaimed. "Cows are killed for meat; the leather is a by-product."  
  
"Well then, how about a Rolls Royce?"  
  
She looked at him like he was insane. "And own a car that increases US dependence on foreign oil? I think not."  
  
"What do you want then?" he challenged. "Name it and it's yours. You can have anything your heart desires."  
  
She frowned. "That's the thing. There's nothing that I particularly want that I don't already have. My family, my friends."  
  
Roger threw his hands up in the air. "Here you are, with a genie who can grant your every wish, and you're just letting me go to waste! You're just like -" He caught himself before he could finish the sentence. 'Just like Tony' was what he was about to say, and that was something he didn't want to think about right now. Or ever. "I just don't know how to please you."  
  
She made a face. "Well, these shoes you conjured up for me aren't very comfortable."  
  
Roger shook his head. "Oh no, if you think I'm rubbing your feet, you're crazy. I'm not going anywhere near them -- they're deadly weapons that should be registered with the Federal Bureau of Investigations."  
  
"I wasn't going to ask you to rub my feet," she said haughtily. "I can rub them myself."  
  
They both sat down, her on the bed and him at the desk. Pouting.  
  
At that moment, there was a rush of wind.which was very odd, because the door and windows were closed. A heavily-muscled man in turban and full harem regalia appeared, causing Jean to jump almost a foot in the air.  
  
"Letter for the genie of the house," he said.  
  
Roger tapped his chest, and the man handed him a piece of parchment covered with what looked like hieroglyphics. The messenger bowed, then vanished.  
  
Jean went to stand next to him. "Does this sort of thing happen often?" she asked uncertainly. "People just popping in and out like that?"  
  
"You get used to it after a while," he murmured, perusing the message he'd been sent. As he did, his expression changed to one of excitement, and he tapped the parchment in his hands. "Wow, do you know what this says?"  
  
She leaned over him. "As a matter of fact, I do," she replied. At his look of surprise, she shrugged. "I *am* an archaeology major, remember? It says -"  
  
He pulled it away. "It says that Hadji, the Master of all Genies, wants to meet with me to talk, because he's very pleased with my work on my new assignment."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "This I have to see," she said blandly.  
  
Roger didn't miss the not-so-subtle sarcasm in her voice. "All right, then, you can come too. It says here to meet him at -"  
  
"- at the Near Eastern Archaeological Consortium's new exhibit.the reconstruction of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, rebuilt in its original location," she finished for him, her eyes widening. "Hey, I've always wanted to see that -- they say it's an almost perfect reconstruction of the ancient site."  
  
"And I'll be very glad to take you there," he said smugly, preparing to transport them both there to meet Hadji . Finally, someone appreciated him! But this task would take stronger magic than he'd been using, so this time he folded his arms before he blinked. "Get ready, Mistress," he said confidently. "Because now you're going to see what sort of a genie I really am." 


	7. Part 07

Roger and Jean arrived at the Hanging Gardens almost instantaneously. However, instead of it bustling with the activity of tourists and academics, the lights were dim and the halls were eerily silent.  
  
"Well, this is creepy," Jean observed mildly, looking around. "It must be nighttime here."  
  
"Hadji probably didn't want to meet in broad daylight, when just anyone could see us. No wonder he sent the message at a time the exhibit was closed." He was looking around as well; the place was filled with ancient statues and pottery, just the sort of things Jean would like. "Hmm.I wonder why they ever decided to reconstruct the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?"  
  
"Hey, if they can build a replica of the Parthenon in Tennessee." she replied, a slight frown on her face. "Do you think he's already here, or are you supposed to wait for him?"  
  
"If Hadji said to meet him, he's got to be here already. We should look for him -- he's probably just set up in some special part of the exhibit, with music and dancing girls and all that."  
  
"I'm sure scantily-clad women dancing will go over big in the modern Middle East," she said dryly, as they began walking through the darkened corridors. "Shouldn't I be wearing a veil or burka or something?"  
  
"Genii have been around for thousands of years, long before any of the modern religious taboos began," he replied knowingly. "So what you have on is fine for an audience with Hadji."  
  
"Thousands of years, 'eh?" she repeated, investigating a glass case full of clay tablets. "Is that how long you've been around too?"  
  
"No Mistress, I'm quite a bit younger than that," he replied hastily, feeling a little flutter in his stomach. He didn't want her to continue that line of questioning; she might end up asking about things he'd rather keep to himself, things like when and where he was born and if he had always been a genie. Not only wasn't he supposed to volunteer information about his previous life, he didn't *want* to tell her about it. The memories it brought up, especially from near its end, were far too unpleasant. As always, he pushed those feelings to the back of his mind. "Now Mistress," he said, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction. "I would like to ask a question about your modern world."  
  
"Go ahead." She was walking a few steps ahead of him, looking at a group of stone vases on display.  
  
"While we were at brunch, I noticed something strange about your friend Gary."  
  
"What did you think was strange?"  
  
"Now, I realize that times have changed, and things are different today than they were in the past," he said, their footsteps echoing in the darkened halls. "But if you could please tell me when men started wearing earrings."  
  
"The 1980's," she replied, not missing a beat.  
  
He cocked his head. "How'd you know that one so fast?"  
  
She grinned, looking at him through the glass of one of the exhibits. "My grandmother told me."  
  
"Your grandmother?"  
  
"Yeah. She was a teenager then -- she's got some great stories about what it was like back in the twentieth century; you know, before we became civilized."  
  
Roger chose not to comment on that. "I'll bet," he said, pausing at the junction between two parts of the exhibition. He listened carefully. "Do you hear that?"  
  
"Yes, I do," she said, facing in the direction he'd indicated. "And you were right, it does sound like music. He must be down that way."  
  
Roger kept himself from an 'I told you so' as they both headed towards the source of the mysterious sounds. It took them a few minutes, but the faint noise grew louder as they approached the end of a long hallway.  
  
"A utility room?" Roger said, reading the sign on the door. Now he was starting to feel a little uncertain. It wasn't like Hadji to do anything halfway, and a meeting in a broom closet wasn't exactly his style.  
  
"Is that what it says?" asked Jean.  
  
"Yes. Hey, I thought you could read this stuff."  
  
"Not modern Arabic -- that's a little after my frame of reference. Now if it was hieratic or Linear B."  
  
"I see," he murmured, but he made no move towards the door. He stared at it, as if something might come leaping out the second it was opened.  
  
"Aren't you going to go in?" Jean asked, after a few moments.  
  
"I don't know.something just doesn't seem right."  
  
"What, is your genie-sense tingling or something? Or are you just worried about your meeting with Hadji?"  
  
He put on his best look of righteous indignation. He wasn't about to show his Mistress that he was nervous about this. "Certainly not," he declared, pushing open the door and stepping inside.  
  
There was a brief sensation of falling, which he recognized as teleportation, and he instinctively closed his eyes. When he opened them, what he saw wasn't what he'd expected. It wasn't Hadji's court, or a banquet, or dancing girls. It wasn't even a broom closet. It was a large, empty room -- too big to have been contained within the exhibit hall -- and painted entirely in red.  
  
He took a few steps forward, looking around, but there was nothing to be seen. Just the red walls, ceiling, and floor. That bad feeling he'd had outside was growing stronger.  
  
"What is this place?" Jean breathed.  
  
Roger turned, about to tell her that they were getting out of there, but before he could say anything he was cut off by another voice. It was female, and it reverberated scornfully off the blank red walls.  
  
"What is this place?" the voice repeated mockingly. "It's a trap." 


	8. Part 08

Roger recognized the voice instantly and blinked, desperate to get them both away. Nothing happened. He tried again, several more times, but for some reason his magic wouldn't work. His eyes darted to the door they'd come through. "Jean, run.run *now*," he urged, pushing her towards it.  
  
Two cages materialized, one around each of them, before they'd gotten two steps. Jean's was steel, but Roger's looked like it was made of some type of crystal. He pushed at the bars; not only didn't they give, but he felt a wave of dizziness go through him when he tried. He moved back to the middle of the cage and the sensation passed.  
  
"Well well well," said the voice again, as a dark-haired woman in greenish harem garb appeared out of thin air. "We meet again."  
  
"Roger?" Jean asked nervously, staring at the stranger.  
  
"Jeannie's sister," he mumbled. "It's Jeannie's sister."  
  
The woman stalked over to his cage. "Yes, it's Jeannie's sister. Long time no see, Major. Is it still Major? I can never remember.I just can't keep track of all these silly military titles you people like to use." She glanced over at Jean. "And you brought a friend with you. How nice."  
  
"What do you want with me," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.  
  
"And your friend calls you Roger too.isn't that sweet? I'll bet she doesn't even know why you want her to do that. But if you're intent on using that name, I suppose you'd be more comfortable in something else." She blinked, and suddenly he was wearing his army uniform, complete with hat, insignia, and astronaut's wings. He yanked off the nametag, shoving it into a pocket before Jean could see it.  
  
She smiled, then turned to Jean. "Do you even know who this man is?"  
  
"No," she whispered, her eyes wide.  
  
"It doesn't really matter now, does it Major? All that's in the past. Ancient history." She addressed Jean again. "I always knew he was stupid -- you should be glad that I sent him that fake summons from Hadji. Don't worry, dear, I've probably saved you from a fate worse than death."  
  
Jean was eyeing her uneasily. "What do you mean?"  
  
She gestured at her captive. "Him. He's not just an idiot, he's a dangerous idiot.and I'm going to see to it that he's never a danger to anyone, ever again."  
  
"Ever again?" he repeated warily, taking off his hat. "That's kind of final, don't you think-"  
  
She whirled around. "Yes. It's very final. That's what 'never' and 'ever again' mean. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to trap you in another bottle and send it to the bottom of the ocean, where no-one will ever find you; or if I should just leave you in that cage until it sucks all your magic and then your life out of you."  
  
Roger recoiled from the bars, now that he knew they were sapping his strength as well as his magical power. "I don't understand why you're doing this.what did I ever do to you?"  
  
"What did you ever do to me?" she shot back. "Aside from ruining my plans to have Major Nelson? Aside from almost having to marry you? What do you think?" she snarled. "This is to pay you back for what happened to my *sister*."  
  
Roger's face fell. "No," he said, shaking his head. "That wasn't-"  
  
"That wasn't your fault? Is that what you were about to say?" she sneered. "Your excuses won't work with me any more than they worked with Hadji. You're lucky you've lived *this* long."  
  
"Excuse me," Jean said pleadingly, from behind her metal bars. "I don't understand. What's going on? What did Roger do?"  
  
The female genie sighed. "And here I thought that since she was a college girl, she was one of the brainy ones." She leaned forward, as if about to share some office gossip with her. "Didn't he tell you? Your genie killed my sister, as well as her master -- who happened to be his best friend, not that it saved him in the end."  
  
Roger shook his head, horrified. "No, it was the accident.none of us knew what that ruby could do, we didn't know it was cursed."  
  
"All you saw was a chance to get rich," she accused. "That's why *you* stole it from the Cave of the Aurora when the three of you were in Bucharest."  
  
"I didn't know." he protested weakly.  
  
"You misbegotten son of a hyena, do not dare to contradict me," she said, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Were it not for you, my sister and her master would still be alive."  
  
"That isn't fair, I was-"  
  
"Greedy. Selfish. How do you think he ended up a genie?" she said to his Mistress. "It was a punishment."  
  
"A punishment?" Jean said in confusion, looking at Roger like she'd never seen him before.  
  
"A punishment for the death of one of Hadji's favorites.and a means to replace my sister."  
  
"I thought you didn't even like your sister," he countered. By this point he wasn't really thinking clearly, and he didn't know what else to say.  
  
"I didn't," she snapped, her voice rising. "But she was my *sister*!"  
  
Roger grabbed the bars again, not caring what it would do to him. "Do you honestly think I would have taken that ruby if I'd known what could happen? Do you think that if there was any way I could go back and change things that I wouldn't?" he shouted back. "Do you think that every night since this happened I don't fall asleep wondering why I'm still alive when they're not, and hating myself for it?"  
  
The woman's face froze. She stared at him as if she'd been struck; her lips were parted, but nothing came out. A single tear formed in one eye, sliding down her cheek, only to be followed by another, and another, and another.  
  
Roger, shocked by his own admission of guilt and even more shocked by the other genie's reaction, felt his throat tighten as the emotions that had been pushed back for so long finally forced their way to the surface. He bowed his head.  
  
"It was my fault, all of it," he whispered, wiping at his eyes. "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. My God, if I could bring them back."  
  
The woman in green just nodded, still unable to speak. She took his hand through the bars and gripped it; he held onto hers just as tightly. They stayed that way for a while, eyes closed and unspeaking, sharing their grief over something that neither of them could mend.  
  
Jean was watching them, dumbfounded. She was so caught up in what was going on that she wasn't even startled when an older man in genie's garb materialized in front of them, with a few muscle-men in turbans at his side.  
  
"Hadji?" Jean guessed, from behind the cage door.  
  
"Yes, child. How very perceptive of you," he smiled. Then he cleared his throat, waiting for the other two to notice him.  
  
Roger shot up when he saw him, pulling his hand back. "Hadji." The woman in green, still dabbing her eyes, also stood a little straighter when she faced him.  
  
"Is there a problem here, with my newest genie and my most cunning genie?" he asked, gazing between the two of them. "I should think that old differences were to be put aside, especially since the coming of a new millennium."  
  
"I am sorry, Hadji," said the female genie, in hushed tones.  
  
"There is nothing to be sorry for, child," he said. "You did not harm the one you felt had harmed you. You have passed my test."  
  
She looked up in surprise. "You knew?" she asked.  
  
He nodded. "I knew."  
  
"Then why did you let me."  
  
"I wanted to see how you would respond to the test. You did well.when you learned for yourself how your colleague felt, you relented. You let him live."  
  
Roger smiled thankfully and tried to speak, but his proximity to the bars had weakened him. He stumbled, then slumped to the floor.  
  
Jean's eyes widened. "Please, get him out of there -- it's making him sick."  
  
The woman in green put her hand to her mouth in surprise, then blinked. Both of the cages vanished, and Jean hurried to Roger's side. "Roger, are you OK?"  
  
"I'm OK," he murmured. "Are you?"  
  
"Yes, I'm fine.I was really worried about you for a minute," she said, helping him sit up. "Are you positive? I remember that when I kicked you, you said you were, but you really weren't."  
  
"This time I am," he promised her. "Thank you."  
  
"I'm sorry, Maj -- I mean Roger," the other genie said, finally using his name instead of the title. "Is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
"Well, I have this splitting headache," he replied, rubbing at the place where his skull had hit the ground. "Could you do something about that?"  
  
"Yes." She blinked, and the pain was gone. "Is that better?"  
  
"Perfect," he sighed. "Can you put my clothes back the way they were too?"  
  
"Of course," she replied, and he was back in normal twenty-first century (civilian) attire.  
  
"And now that everything seems to be sorted out," mused Hadji, "Perhaps this would be a good time to discuss the work of my newest genie after all."  
  
"Oh sir, I don't think this would be the best time." Roger began, thinking how (in the course of the past 24 hours) he'd managed to almost get his Mistress into all sorts of trouble, and could have gotten her killed by a genie bent on revenge against him. "Maybe I could have my review after my first week on the job?"  
  
"Do not worry, Roger, you're doing fine.compared to some of my other genies when they first began their service," he said, glancing at Jeannie's sister (who casually looked in the other direction). Then he addressed her directly. "Is there anything you want to add, before you get back to work too?"  
  
"Well," she said to Jean, with the hint of a smile on her face. "I suppose you do have a halfway decent genie after all. But watch out for him.he's easily distracted, and he has the common sense of a gnat."  
  
"I prefer to think of it as not being bound by one-dimensional thinking," he replied.  
  
"Miss Mackenzie? Do you have any thoughts on your genie's performance?" asked Hadji. "You do have the right to order him back into his bottle when he displeases you, you know. And if he truly displeases you, you may relinquish control of the bottle to another, or simply 'lose' the bottle.on purpose."  
  
Jean rubbed her chin, as if considering her options.  
  
Roger looked at his Mistress plaintively. Even after all the mishaps and missteps between them, he still wanted to stay with her. "Mistress, you wouldn't want to get rid of me, now would you?" he pleaded. "I can do better, I really can-"  
  
Jean shook her head and laughed. "Jeez, Rog, can you stop with the puppy- dog eyes?" she asked, grinning. "Of course I'm not going to get rid of you. How could I do that? We're buds now, right?"  
  
"Buds?" he repeated.  
  
"You know, buddies. Friends. Like Annie and Gary and the others."  
  
"Oh. OK," he said in relief. "Thank you Mistress, thank you, you won't be disappointed."  
  
"Good for you. Now, you should all probably be running along; none of you want to be missed by your fellows." said Hadji.  
  
"Goodbye, Roger. It was nice to see you again," said Jeannie's sister, sounding slightly embarrassed. Still, it was the warmest thing she'd ever said to him.  
  
"We'll have to do this again sometime. Well, not exactly this, but something like it."  
  
"That sounds lovely. Besides, I have all kinds of helpful hints for new genies," she replied conspiratorially. "I'll be in touch." With that, she blinked and vanished.  
  
Roger turned to Jean. "Are you ready, Mistress?" he asked, folding his arms and preparing to blink.  
  
"Yes, I am," she said. "Let's go home."  
  
He smiled. "Home," he pronounced firmly.and then they were back in Jean's room.  
  
Jean fell back on the bed, stretching luxuriously. "Man, it's good to be here."  
  
"You said it," he agreed. "You'll probably be wanting to study now, so I'll just."  
  
"I don't know about you, but I'm not really in the mood for studying," she replied thoughtfully. "I could use a rest, but maybe later on we could go to one of those fun places you were talking about last night."  
  
Roger brightened. "Oh Mistress, that will be wonderful. You rest for a while, and then when you're ready we can go out; I won't disturb you until then," he said, going over to the shelf with his bottle. "We'll have a great time, I promise."  
  
"I'm sure we will," she said, watching as he turned to blue smoke and disappeared back into the bottle.  
  
After he was gone, Jean reached into the front pocket of her khakis, and pulled out what she'd seen Roger hide from her. Curious, she'd taken it from his jacket pocket when she'd helped him sit up; still weakened from his time in the cage, he hadn't even noticed. Now, though, she was free to examine it.  
  
She was surprised to see that it was only a nametag. "Healey," she read softly, her brow furrowing. Something about it and the uniform seemed familiar, but she just couldn't place it.  
  
She frowned, still staring down at the nametag. "Healey," she said again, and shook her head. "Now *where* have I heard that name before..?"  
  
The End. 


End file.
